Chapter I
-1-
YOU don't know about me without you have read a book
by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but
that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark
Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was
things which he stretched, but mainly he told the
truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but
lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly,
or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly -- Tom's
Aunt Polly, she is -- and Mary, and the Widow
Douglas is all told about in that book, which is
mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said
before.
Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and
me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave,
and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars
apiece -- all gold. It was an awful sight of money
when it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took
it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a
dollar a day apiece all the year round -- more than
a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas
she
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-2-
took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize
me; but it was rough living in the house all the
time, considering how dismal regular and decent the
widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't
stand it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags
and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and
satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said
he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might
join if I would go back to the widow and be
respectable. So I went back.
The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor
lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names,
too, but she never meant no harm by it. She put me
in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing
but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well,
then, the old thing commenced again. The widow rung
a bell for supper, and you had to come to time. When
you got to the table you couldn't go right to
eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck
down her head and grumble a little over the
victuals, though there warn't really anything the
matter with them, -- that is, nothing only
everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds
and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and
the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go
better.
After supper she got out her book and learned me
about Moses and the Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat
to find out all about him; but by and by she let it
out that Moses had been dead a considerable long
time; so then I didn't care no more about him,
because I don't take no stock in dead people.
Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow
to let me. But she wouldn't. She said it was
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-3-
a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must try to
not do it any more. That is just the way with some
people. They get down on a thing when they don't
know nothing about it. Here she was a-bothering
about Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to
anybody, being gone, you see, yet finding a power of
fault with me for doing a thing that had some good
in it. And she took snuff, too; of course that was
all right, because she done it herself.
Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid,
with goggles on, had just come to live with her, and
took a set at me now with a spelling-book. She
worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then
the widow made her ease up. I couldn't stood it much
longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, and I
was fidgety. Miss Watson would say, "Don't put your
feet up there, Huckleberry;" and "Don't scrunch up
like that, Huckleberry -- set up straight;" and
pretty soon she would say, "Don't gap and stretch
like that, Huckleberry -- why don't you try to
behave?" Then she told me all about the bad place,
and I said I wished I was there. She got mad then,
but I didn't mean no harm. All I wanted was to go
somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't
particular. She said it was wicked to say what I
said; said she wouldn't say it for the whole world;
she was going to live so as to go to the good place.
Well, I couldn't see no advantage in going where she
was going, so I made up my mind I wouldn't try for
it. But I never said so, because it would only make
trouble, and wouldn't do no good.
Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me
all about the good place. She said all a body
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-4-
would have to do there was to go around all day long
with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn't
think much of it. But I never said so. I asked her
if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she
said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about
that, because I wanted him and me to be together.
Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got
tiresome and lonesome. By and by they fetched the
niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody was
off to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of
candle, and put it on the table. Then I set down in
a chair by the window and tried to think of
something cheerful, but it warn't no use. I felt so
lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were
shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so
mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing
about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a
dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and
the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and
I couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the
cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods
I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when
it wants to tell about something that's on its mind
and can't make itself understood, and so can't rest
easy in its grave, and has to go about that way
every night grieving. I got so down-hearted and
scared I did wish I had some company. Pretty soon a
spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped
it off and it lit in the candle; and before I could
budge it was all shriveled up. I didn't need anybody
to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would
fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared and most
shook the clothes off of me. I got up and turned
around in my
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-5-
tracks three times and crossed my breast every time;
and then I tied up a little lock of my hair with a
thread to keep witches away. But I hadn't no
confidence. You do that when you've lost a horseshoe
that you've found, instead of nailing it up over the
door, but I hadn't ever heard anybody say it was any
way to keep off bad luck when you'd killed a spider.
I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my
pipe for a smoke; for the house was all as still as
death now, and so the widow wouldn't know. Well,
after a long time I heard the clock away off in the
town go boom -- boom -- boom -- twelve licks; and
all still again -- stiller than ever. Pretty soon I
heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees
-- something was a stirring. I set still and
listened. Directly I could just barely hear a
"me-yow! me-yow!" down there. That was good! Says
I,"me-yow! me-yow!" as soft as I could, and then I
put out the light and scrambled out of the window on
to the shed. Then I slipped down to the ground and
crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there
was Tom Sawyer waiting for me.
|
|
